


"The Angel Stream III: In the Bleak Midwinter"

by Gaedhal



Series: "The Angel Stream" [3]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-10 08:59:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10434114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaedhal/pseuds/Gaedhal
Summary: Justin returns to Dartmouth and the Boys deal with being apart.





	1. Chapter 1

Pittsburgh, January 2005

 

The bitter cold gripped the city tightly.

Brian pulled his dark green classic Corvette Stingray into a parking space as near to the Liberty Diner as he could find. Winter was a bitch. Snow was piled everywhere and people parked wherever they wanted to. That pissed Brian off. But a lot of things pissed Brian Kinney off. He was a pissed-off kind of guy.

Brian got out of the Corvette and stepped gingerly over a snowbank to reach the sidewalk, getting snow all over the pants of his new Armani suit. Shit. Now he’d have to be careful that he didn’t get salt stains on the expensive wool. Sometimes he felt like saying “Fuck it!” Felt like quitting his job, selling his loft, and moving to South Beach. What the hell was he doing here in Fabulous Pittsburgh anyway? What was the point?

“Hiya, honey!” called Debbie when she saw Brian come through the door. “Put your ass in a seat and I’ll get you some coffee.”

“No coffee, Deb. I want some take-out,” said Brian, sitting at the counter. “What’s the special today?”

“Macaroni and cheese,” said Debbie, brightly. “With green beans and biscuits.”

Brian stomach turned slightly. Carbs and more carbs. “Give me a turkey on whole grain bread, hold the Mayo.”

“That won’t keep you going on a cold day, baby,” Debbie advised. “What if I send you home with a nice pint of vegetable soup to go with that sandwich?”

Brian shrugged. Maybe some soup would taste good. Something warm to eat while he sat in the cold loft. “Why the fuck not? Okay, add the soup to that.”

“And I’ll put in a couple of lemon squares, too,” said Deb. “If you don’t eat ’em I’m sure that Justin will gobble them down in two minutes flat!”

“No,” said Brian. “He won’t.”

“What’s the matter? Doesn’t that kid like my goddamn lemon squares?” Debbie demanded.

“He likes them fine,” Brian replied. “But he’s not here, so it’s a moot point.”

“Not here?” said Debbie, putting her hands on her hips. “What do you mean, he’s not here?”

“Christmas is over, Deb. It’s a new year. Justin went back to school. Back to Dartmouth.” Brian picked up a copy of ‘Pittsburgh Out’ that had been abandoned on the counter and opened it, pretending to read about the latest Gay Marriage Initiative. “He’s gone.”

“Well, when’ll he be back?” Debbie continued.

“How the fuck should I know?” said Brian, tossing the paper away. “Can I have my fucking food now? I’m in a hurry.”

“Coming right up, Your Highness,” Deb bowed. “Are you in such a fucking hurry to go out to the bars and get your dick sucked now that your pretty little boyfriend is out of the picture?”

“You seem to know more about my personal life than I do, Debbie, so why bother asking?” Brian returned. “You know so much about me getting my dick sucked – maybe YOU would like to do the job yourself and see what all the shouting is about?”

“No thanks,” Deb sniffed distastefully.

“Thank God,” Brian said in relief.

Brian waited while Debbie wrapped up his sandwich. A tall, dark-eyed man walked in and cruised Brian on his way to a back booth. Not a bad body, he thought, although it really was hard to tell with every guy in town bundled up like a fucking Eskimo. Sometimes by the time you got four layers of fleece off the bastard what was underneath wasn’t worth having after all.

The young man smiled at him, but Brian turned away. This guy didn’t really interest him. Brian glanced around the room. No one in here interested him. And if he went to Woody’s or to Babylon or the baths tonight, no one there would interest him either. That was the problem.

“Here you go, honey,” said Deb, handing him a paper bag with the containers inside. “Don’t tip it over and spill the soup!”

“That’s just what I was planning to do,” Brian said. 

Debbie still treated him like he was 14 years old. No wonder poor Mikey was such a terminal case of arrested development. It was funny but whenever Deb treated Michael’s foster son Hunter the same way, the kid rolled his eyes and called her on it. He was 16 going on 35, that was for sure. Yeah, he wasn’t a bad kid, except for being unable to decide whether he was a queer or a fucking breeder. 

But lots of guys are confused at that age, Brian thought. Wait until he hooks up with some hot jock in his high school and then he’ll forget all about pussy.

Except I wasn’t confused, Brian remembered. I wasn’t confused about what I wanted at all. Dick and lots of it. And plenty of ass, too. Life was pretty simple. Sort of. Except when it was a fucking disaster, like in New York. Brian pushed that out of his head, the way he always did. No, as much as he had loved being young, beautiful, and hot, there was no way in hell that Brian would care to revisit his teenage years.

But his twenties – now that was a different story! Once he got out of college, had his own money, his own wheels, and his own place to live, then he was able to be himself. Brian Fucking Kinney – The Wonder Years! Fucking 30 different guys a month wasn’t out of the realm. And if he was on vacation or a business trip, then the sky was the limit. Brian thought about a White Party in Miami he’d attended a couple of years before. Not the one where he’d fucked Ben, but the one he’d won in the contest at Woody’s. Shit! He hadn’t even come up for air for three days!

And he’d missed Lindsay and Mel’s wedding.

But who gave a shit? Weddings were bullshit. No one had missed him there. No one had cared, not even Lindsay. She’d encouraged him to go to the White Party, even after he had offered her and Mel the tickets to Miami for their honeymoon. No, Lindz hadn’t really wanted him there. That was obvious.

Who would want Brain Kinney at their fucking wedding?

Yes, he’d been at Michael and Ben’s wedding in Toronto, but that was a fluke. They had all been in town for the Liberty Ride and Brian couldn’t very well refuse to go to ceremony, even as a protest. Mikey would have had his balls. Or, rather, his ball.

But queers getting married was a fucking mockery. Dykes – maybe. But two men? No fucking way! Who would want to be stuck fucking the same guy every day of your life, for the rest of your life?

What guy was worth it? Coming home every night to the same guy. Looking at his face first thing every morning. Kissing him whenever you wanted to. Talking to him about what you did that day. Sitting down and eating dinner. Making love to him in the same bed every night.

“Brian?” said Deb. “Is there something else you want?”

“Huh?” Brian said, looking up. He clutched the paper bag with the sandwich and the soup, afraid that he’d drop it and look like a fucking idiot. “No. Thanks, Deb. There’s nothing else that I want.”

No. Nothing that he wanted.

Nothing at all.

It was getting dark as Brian Kinney walked out into the snow to the Corvette to drive back to the loft. Alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, at Dartmouth...

Dartmouth College, January 2005

 

More snow.

Justin was sick of snow, but in New England that’s what you got. Snow. Wind. Sleet. And occasionally the sun came peeking out for a few minutes before it darted back behind a warm cloud.

Justin pulled his fleeced jacket up around neck and rewrapped his scarf tighter across his face. If he went out after dark it was usually to the library to study or to get something to eat at the Student Center. But tonight he had decided to go to a meeting – the monthly gathering of the Gay Dartmouth Club.

The first person Justin saw when he walked into the meeting room was Kyle, a guy he knew from his English class. Kyle was a History major from Connecticut. He was tall and a little geeky, but a nice guy. Justin walked over to him. At least he’d have someone to stand with.

“I’m surprised to see you here, Justin,” said Kyle. He had a cup of punch that he’d picked up from the refreshment table and he sipped it noisily. Kyle kept looking across the room. A guy he had a crush on – Tyler – was standing there with his new boyfriend, a jock named Mick.

“I thought I’d hang out here for a while,” said Justin, casually. He glanced at the refreshments. Canned punch wasn’t his idea of a real drink. He thought of standing at the main bar at Babylon with Brian, downing shots of Absolut and kissing between each one until Justin thought he would fall down. Then Brian had carried him out to the Corvette, driven them both back to the loft, and fucked Justin’s brains out all night long. That had undoubtedly been the best New Year’s Eve of his life! “It’s either this or sit in the dorm and watch my roommate play fucking video games all evening.”

“A couple of us are going into Boston next weekend and hit the bars,” said Kyle. “You want to come?”

Justin shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.” He’d never been in a gay bar without Brian. Or to a club. It might be interesting to compare the places in Boston with Woody’s or Babylon. But it wouldn’t be the same without Brian.

“So, did you tell your parents yet?” asked Kyle. They’d had the coming out discussion a few times the previous term. Even Kyle, who was pretty conservative in most things, had been out to his parents and friends since high school. He couldn’t believe that Justin still hadn’t told his own that he was gay.

“Sort of,” Justin said, hesitantly. “I told my mom during Christmas Vacation. But my dad is a different story.”

“Have your mother do the dirty work for you,” Kyle suggested. “That’s what I did. Once I told my mother she couldn’t wait pick up the phone and blab to everyone else in the family. So I didn’t have to do a damn thing!”

“Didn’t your dad go ballistic when he found out?” Justin asked. He didn’t know Kyle too well, but he knew that Kyle’s wealthy parents were divorced and re-married, and that his father was an executive in some big corporation.

“Not really,” said Kyle, draining his punch. “His stepdaughter was pregnant at the time and her boyfriend was the local drug-dealer in their high school, so having a faggot son who was a National Merit Scholar and who had been accepted to Dartmouth probably didn’t seem so bad. Now they’re all used to it. Even my uncle who said that he’d never speak to me again has come around. They figure what the hell? They’re all Republicans, but if Dick Cheney’s daughter is a dyke, then I guess they can stand me. That’s how they think in my family.”

“I’m afraid that my dad would take it personally,” said Justin. “Like it was some big disgrace to his own manhood.”

“Then that’s his problem, Justin, not yours,” said Kyle. He was still eyeing Tyler across the room. They had hooked up once after a mixer during Fall Term, but since then Tyler had totally ignored him. And now Tyler was falling all over Mick, who had a great body but was dumber than a box of rocks. Guys were so fucked up!

“My mom isn’t exactly thrilled with the situation,” Justin continued. “But I think she’s suspected it for a long time, so it wasn’t a complete shock. I mean, I wasn’t exactly a player when I was high school. I went on one date in my whole life and that was with my best friend, Daphne. Let’s face it, when you’re going into your senior year of college and you’ve never had a girlfriend that’s sort of a giveaway.”

“That’s not only a giveaway,” Kyle snorted. “That’s wearing a fucking sign! If your father doesn’t know by now, Justin, then he’s in denial. I bet he knows – he just doesn’t want to admit it.”

“You’re probably right,” Justin replied. “But if I walked up to the front door holding hands with my boyfriend... I don’t know. I still don't think I’m ready to do that!”

Kyle looked at Justin with new interest. “You have a boyfriend? Since when?”

Justin grinned. “Since Christmas! Christmas Eve, actually.”

“Congratulations! Now you’re making progress.” Kyle had always thought that Justin was cute, but very immature. The fact that he was 22 years old and still wavering about telling his parents that he was gay seemed proof of that. But a boyfriend was certainly a step in the right direction. “What’s his name? Does he go to school in Pittsburgh?”

“His name’s Brian,” said Justin. 

“Guys named Brian tend to be cute,” Kyle reasoned. 

“Brian is better than cute. He’s tall and gorgeous, with an amazing body!” Justin bragged. “And he’s not a student. He works at an advertising agency and he drives a Corvette and has his own loft. He’s 33.”

“Jesus!” said Kyle. “A sugar daddy! I didn’t think you had it in you, Justin. That’s a pretty decent catch for your first time fishing.”

“I wasn’t fishing,” said Justin. “We sort of ran into each other. On the street outside a club.”

Justin realized that he was blushing a deep red. He hadn’t talked to anyone about Brian yet. Except for Daphne, of course. He hadn’t wanted to talk about Brian, as if talking were tantamount to sharing him with other people. But suddenly Justin had an intense desire to tell everyone he saw. He wanted to run outside and stop strangers on the walkway and tell them all about Brian.

“A classic pick-up,” Kyle asserted. “This Brian must have a lot of experience in picking up guys if he’s 33. Or is he afraid to tell his parents, too?”

“Brian has a lot of experience at everything!” Justin retorted defensively. “I bet he’s had more guys than everyone in this room put together. You can’t believe what he can do with his body. The first night we were together we fucked five or six times! And I’m not kidding!”

“Sounds like a fuck machine,” Kyle laughed. “So what makes him your boyfriend and not just a guy who’s added you to his long list of conquests?”

Now Justin wasn’t smiling. “Fuck you, Kyle! You don’t know anything about Brian. And I wasn’t a fucking conquest! It wasn’t like that at all. I... I’m in love with him.”

Kyle shook his head. He’d been right about Justin. He might be 22 but he was still a fucking clueless kid. And now Justin thought some local tweaked out fuckmaster was the be-all and end-all of his life. Was he ever in for a rude awakening!

“Love is a pretty strong emotion,” said Kyle, gently. “Maybe you should get to know this guy a little better before you start throwing the word ‘love’ around?”

“But I do love him,” Justin insisted. “And I know that he loves me.”

“Did he tell you that?” asked Kyle. “Some guys will say anything to get into your pants.”

“Brian isn’t like that! He’s honest! And he didn’t say he loved me in words,” said Justin, slowly. “But I knew. From everything he did. And from the way he acted. He didn’t have to say it.”

“Sure, Justin,” said Kyle. This kid is in for it, he thought. He’s going to come down hard and it’s going to hurt. Bad!

“Brian didn’t have to say it,” Justin repeated to himself with less certainty. “But I know that he loves me! I really, really know.” He paused. “I think.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An evening at Woody's takes a wrong turn.

Pittsburgh, February 2005

 

Woody’s wasn’t very crowded. 

It was a weeknight and still early. But, Brian told himself, things weren’t the way they had been only a few years ago. Too many bars had closed along Liberty Avenue since Jim Stockwell had become mayor. Meathook. BoyToy. Even Pistol had packed it in recently. The baths were shut tight and the backrooms, too, even in the most obscure dives well off the beaten path. Queer Pittsburgh was like a fucking ghost town.

A lot of men had been reduced to meeting in rest area toilets along the Pennsylvania Turnpike, or in parked trailers or warehouses in beaten-down areas of town. The word about them was spread by e-mail or in whispered conversations. But you had to be careful. You never knew who was listening. Stockwell’s goons were everywhere. The Stormtroopers. The Anti-Sex Squad. And fags were Number One on their list of targets.

But Brian was restless. The weeks since the New Year had been dark and depressing – not only the weather, but everything. Gardner had been on his ass at work. Lindsay and Mel were fighting again and Brian had to listen to Lindz’ marital complaints. And Michael was always too busy to hang out. Mikey had better things to do – his store, his husband, his foster son, and his baby daughter – than to kill time in a bar with Brian. Than to keep Brian company during long evenings at Woody’s or Babylon. Better ways to spend his time than to help fill up Brian’s loneliness. Michael had his own life and he was living it.

Brian had even tried hanging out with Ted a few times. But Ted bored the shit out of him. Ted had been in fucking rehab and he was constantly spouting 12-Step Program bullshit – all while he was sitting in Woody’s, surrounded by drunks. Ted sure knew how to kill a fucking mood. 

And Emmett? No, Brian wasn’t that desperate. Not yet.

Some nights Brian sat in the Liberty Diner for as long as an hour before he finally picked up his take-out order and went home. He didn’t mind listening to Debbie’s chatter. It filled the void. Sometimes they talked about Vic. They both missed Vic.

And Debbie always asked about Justin.

Brian would shrug and tell her whatever was the latest from Dartmouth. Some tidbit about a class Justin was taking or something he’d read or a movie he’d seen on campus. Justin e-mailed Brian almost every day and they spoke on the phone a few times a week, but that was all. They had an easy friendship at a distance, but sustaining a serious relationship when they were separated was more difficult. Neither of them had any experience in any sort of relationship, let alone one in which they weren’t together and had no idea of what the future held.

So things were on hold. That’s the way Brian’s life felt. On hold. Until....

Until what? Until Justin graduated? Until they both decided what they really wanted from each other? Until they both grew up – whenever that was?

“Can I buy you a drink?”

The guy was short and muscular, with a black brushcut. Brian had tricked with him before when the backroom of Babylon had still been open. 

“I usually buy my own drinks,” said Brian. That meant he didn’t have to commit to anything. He didn’t owe any guy anything at all.

The guy sat down on the stool next to Brian. “Then I’ll get one for myself.” He grinned and ordered an Old Pitt.

Brian listened while the guy drank his beer and talked. About his boyfriend. His dog. His job. His truck. Brian glanced at his watch. It was after 10:00. Another evening gone.

“You live alone?” asked the guy.

Brian balked. He was horny, but then he was always horny. And the last thing he wanted to do was to bring this guy back to the loft.

“I get it,” the guy said. “Your lover is at home. I’ve got the same problem.” He put a couple of bills on the bar for the beer. “Wanna go outside? It’s not too cold.”

Brian bit his lip and considered it. “Where?”

“The alley.” The guy stood up and slipped on his jacket. “Come on.”

Brian had been sucked off in the alley next to Woody’s more times than he could count, but still he hesitated. The temperature was barely above freezing. It was getting late. He was tired. But it had been a long time. He hadn’t tricked in almost two weeks. His dick stirred in his pants.

Brian followed the guy outside.

The alley was even bleaker and dirtier than usual. Garbage overflowed from the dumpsters and the chilly air stank. Two couples were already huddled against the brick wall, one guy blowing another, while the second pair jerked each other off.

Brian leaned his back against the wall and closed his eyes. The bricks were frigid. The trick went to his knees and opened up Brian’s jeans. His hands were cold, but Brian’s cock was hot. The guy began sucking him vigorously.

Why the fuck am I here? Brian asked himself. What’s the point? He wasn’t even feeling anything. No pleasure. No thrill. He didn’t care about this guy or his boyfriend or his dog or his truck. It was all fucking meaningless. Like his life. Brian’s emotions were as numb as his ass against the frozen bricks.

“No one move!” 

It was an order, shouted by a hoarse voice. 

A blinding light illuminated the alley.

The guy on his knees wavered. “Fuck!” he swore, standing up.

“Everyone put your hands against the wall! Now!” Stockwell’s Stormtroopers, their black leather coats glistening, advanced into the alley. “You’re all going downtown!”

“Are we under arrest?” Brian demanded.

“Shut up, faggot!” 

One of the cops grabbed Brian roughly and pushed him against the bricks. Then he slowly felt his way up and down Brian’s long body, frisking him.

“Enjoying yourself, officer?” Brian asked brashly. But this was no joke. This was trouble.

“I said that you should shut the fuck up!” snapped the cop. “This one’s mine,” he told the other members of the squad.

Brian took a deep breath. This wasn’t the first time he’d been arrested. But he felt so fucking stupid. Now he’d spend the night in the Queens Tank. He’d probably get the shit beaten out of him – or worse. And for what? A lousy blowjob.

The cop laughed as he cuffed Brian. All the Stormtroopers were laughing as they put the faggots into the van to take them downtown.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian in big trouble.

Pittsburgh, February 2005

 

The police van was filled with guys who had been picked up from all over town. 

From parks and alleys and public restrooms and even a long-time couple who had been in their car, making out in front of their apartment building. But the Stormtroopers didn’t make any differentiation between tricks and committed couples. A queer was a queer and queer behavior was anti-Family-Friendly. Anti-Pittsburgh. Anti-Stockwell.

A couple of the men were crying. Their names, maybe even their pictures, would be published in the newspapers. Many guys had already lost their lovers, their wives and families, their friends, and even their jobs in Mayor Stockwell’s ‘Public Decency’ crackdown.

The guy who had been blowing Brian in the alley kept repeating, “Fuck! Fuck!” over and over.

“Buck up,” said Brian. “Tomorrow you’ll pay a fine and they’ll let you go.”

“But Jake is gonna find out!” the guy moaned. “He’s gonna kill me! And what if my mother reads my name in the ‘Clarion’?”

“That’s the chance you take for being a faggot in this city,” said Brian, cynically. “And pretty soon it’s going to be the whole country. Maybe they’ll round us all up and put us in camps? Or make us wear Pink Triangles? That would really ruin the look of an Armani suit, don't you think?”

“You think this is funny?” spat the guy. “You think this is a big fucking joke?”

“No,” said Brian. “I don’t think it’s funny at all. And I’m not joking. You don’t know these people. You haven’t worked with them and heard them talk. I have.”

“Oh my God,” whispered the guy. “What am I gonna do?”

“Survive,” Brian advised. “Keeping going. Prevail. It’s like the man said – ‘Living well is the best revenge.’ That’s what I do.”

“I’m gonna lose my job! I know it!” said the guy. “And my truck. And... and Jake, too. He warned me not to fuck around on him!” He hung his head and wept openly.

Brian shook his head. This had happened to him before and Brian knew that he wouldn’t lose his job. He was a partner at Vangard and although Gardner would be pissed about it, getting picked up by the Anti-Sex Squad wasn’t grounds for dismissal. If worse came to worse, Brian would call Carl Horvath to come down and bail him out. But other guys weren’t so lucky. Their lives might well be destroyed by an arrest.

That was the nice thing about having no one who really gave a shit. Brian had no lover to hurt or to disappoint.

But Justin’s face suddenly flashed into his head. Justin asking, “Why?” Then Justin saying, “Don’t worry. I’ll be there for you. I’ll stand by you, no matter what!” And Brian was glad that the kid was far away. Far from the taint of Brian Kinney.

At the Central Jail the men were unloaded from the van and herded into the main hall, where they waited to be processed. 

Some of the regular cops gathered around to stare at tonight’s catch of fags. Brian recognized at least two of them. One had been a regular at Woody’s until the crackdown began. The other was a guy Brian had tricked with about a year before. Brian tried to catch his eye, but the cop turned away, afraid to acknowledge Brian’s existence.

Fucking hypocrites, thought Brian. 

But who am I to point the finger? I helped Stockwell get into office. I knew what he was – a fucking homophobe – but I did it anyway. For business. For Vangard. Because selling a product is what I do, even if the product is shit. Even if it’s harmful. That’s not my business. That’s not my decision. Not my problem.

Except when it is.

Except when I’ve fucked myself without lube one too many times. Except when I’ll finally have to pay the price.

“You!” One of the Stormtroopers pulled Brian out of the line and shoved him towards the front desk.

“Name?” the desk sergeant grunted wearily. It had been a long night and looked to be getting longer with this new batch of fags to process.

“James Dean,” said Brian, loudly. Some of the waiting men laughed.

“Just what I need tonight – a comedian.” The sergeant glared at Brian. “Let’s try this again. Name?”

“Oscar Wilde,” Brian replied.

The Stormtrooper who had cuffed Brian in the alley stepped up and slapped him firmly across the face. “Answer the fucking question, faggot!”

Brian’s face stung. He blinked, but he didn’t recoil. “This guy says the sweetest things, boys. I think he has a crush on me. Don’t you, Officer Darling?”

“You are going to get yours, queer,” the cop breathed, his face crimson with anger. “Wait until I get you in the Queens Tank!”

“Is that a date?” Brian asked, doing his best impression of Emmett Honeycutt. “Ooo! I’m all a-flutter!”

The Stormtrooper reached into the back pocket of Brian’s jeans, pulled out his wallet, and slapped it open on the desk. 

“Brian A. Kinney,” the sergeant read from Brian’s driver’s license. He wrote down the information. “Next!”

Then Brian’s ‘date’ frog-marched him out of the main hall and down into the bowels of the building to the Queens Tank.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at Dartmouth, Justin is restless.

Dartmouth College, February 2005

 

“What do you think my greatest contribution to the graduate program in Museum Studies would be?” Justin asked Kyle.

Justin was sitting at his computer in his dorm room trying to write an essay for his application to the Pittsburgh Institute of Fine Art.

“Fuck if I know,” said Kyle. He was flipping through the Cliff Notes for ‘Middlemarch.’ He had to have the novel finished for his English Lit class by tomorrow and he’d only gotten about three chapters read, so he was trying to figure out the plot. But the Cliff Notes were as confusing as the actual book!

“Kyle, you said that you’d help me here!” Justin said in exasperation.

“What do you want me to say, Just?” Kyle shrugged. “Why are you applying to that museum thing anyway? I thought you wanted to be an artist? You should go to New York or out to California and start doing it! Why are you thinking about fucking around Pittsburgh for two or three more years going to grad school?”

“How am I supposed to support myself in New York or California?” Justin asked. “Not everyone has a big trust fund that they can live on like you do, Kyle. And my dad isn’t going to give me money to be an artist after he just finished doling out four years worth of tuition at Dartmouth for me to become a fucking businessman!”

“But you’re not going to do that!” Kyle returned.

“I know,” admitted Justin. “But my dad doesn’t know that. He still thinks I’m going to spend my whole fucking life in an office! But at least if I get into the Master’s program I’ll be at the Institute of Fine Art. I’ll be able to audit some studio courses. And I’ll be around other artists, too. And with an MFA in Museum Studies I might be able to get a job at a museum or a gallery. At least I’ll be part of the art world that way!”

Kyle sniffed. “I think that you should get OUT of fucking Pittsburgh! I’ve been reading about what’s going on there in ‘The Advocate.’ It’s like a police state if you’re a queer, Just!”

“I know,” said Justin, softly. “It’s pretty bad. But it’s my hometown.”

“You only want to go back there because of that guy,” Kyle said smugly. “Brian. Because he’s there. And you’re SO in love with him! Jesus!”

“Yes, Brian’s there,” said Justin. “And I want to be with him. I know that we can have a real relationship if we’re in the same city. But if I go to New York or California it’ll be impossible! We’ll never get to see each other. Long distance relationships almost never work out.”

“I know,” Kyle sighed. “When I came to Dartmouth I was sure that Gregory and I would be together forever. But forever didn’t even last my first term. When I went home for Thanksgiving he’d already hooked up with some guy from U-Conn!”

“Sorry, Kyle,” said Justin.

“It happens,” Kyle replied. He tossed away his Cliff Notes. “Fuck that! I’ll have to fake it tomorrow in English class. That George Eliot must have been a real jerk-off. Talk about a stupid book. And it’s so fucking long! The guy must have been paid by the word.”

Justin snorted. “Good thing you’re a History major, Kyle. George Eliot was a woman. Didn’t you even read the introduction to the book? There’s a picture of her there.”

“Christ,” said Kyle. “I thought it was a really ugly guy! What was she? A dyke?”

“No, Kyle,” said Justin. “I’d look at the Cliff Notes again before class – and before you say something really stupid in front of Professor Jennings and the entire Lit class.”

“I guess you’re right.” Kyle reluctantly picked up the Cliff Notes and tried again.

“I think I’m going to call Brian,” said Justin suddenly. He had a funny feeling in his gut. Like Brian was in trouble or something. He tried to push it out of his head, but the feeling wouldn’t go away.

“I thought you called him earlier and left a message?” Kyle rolled over on the bed and looked up at Justin’s wall. There were at least ten drawings of Justin’s older boyfriend taped up over Justin’s bed, as well as a photograph of the two of them together on New Year’s Eve tacked to the bulletin board.

“I did. But Brian should have called me back by now,” said Justin. “It’s after 11:00 and he always calls me before then because he knows I have early classes.”

“Maybe he got sidetracked?” Kyle wondered if the guy had another boyfriend he was seeing while Justin was at school. That’s what Gregory had done – the cheating bastard! Found another guy the minute Kyle was out of the picture.

Justin frowned. “Brian has work in the morning, too.” He tried Brian’s number again. “I’m still getting his voicemail. Shit! Brian? Is everything okay? Please call me when you get home. I’m worried about you. Goodnight for now.”

Kyle got up off the bed. “Are you going to stay up all night waiting for him to call you back?” Kyle rolled his eyes.

“He’s going to call, Kyle,” Justin insisted. “I know he is.”

The door opened and Justin’s roommate, Denny, came in.

“Hey, guys,” said Denny, dropping his backpack on his bed.

“I was just on my way out,” said Kyle, stretching. He put on his coat and tossed his scarf around his neck. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow, Justin. And don't wait up for that guy to call.”

“Fuck off, Kyle,” Justin said, but not in an angry way. Justin wasn’t mad at Kyle. He wasn’t mad at Brian, either. But now he was getting anxious.

“Fuck you, too, Just,” said Kyle, going out the door.

“I think Kyle likes you,” said Denny. He and Justin got along all right. Denny didn’t mind having a gay roommate as long as he didn’t bring guys back to the room and make Denny listen to them fucking in the dark. But Justin rarely had anyone over, and when he did they were only friends or guys he was studying with, like Kyle.

“Kyle still has a crush on Tyler,” Justin explained. “But Tyler won’t look twice at him. Kyle’s only a friend, Denny. Brian is my boyfriend.”

“I still say that Kyle likes you.” Denny flopped onto his bed. “He’s not bad looking – I guess.”

Justin turned back to his computer and his application essay. “He’s not Brian. And I’m in love with Brian!”

“Okay!” Denny gave up. He was sick of hearing about Brian-Brian-Brian! “I believe you. So when am I going to meet this Wonder Man?”

“I don’t know,” said Justin, glancing at his cellphone. Willing it to ring. But it was silent. “He’s busy working. He’s a partner at his ad agency, so he has a lot of responsibilities.”

“Then why don’t you go home and see him?” asked Denny. “I’m going home to see Carole this weekend. That’s how horny I am!”

“But you only live in Boston,” said Justin. “Do you know how far away Pittsburgh is?”

Denny yawned. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way, dude. If you supposedly ‘love’ this guy so much, who the fuck cares how far away Pittsburgh is?”

Justin stared at the computer screen, rereading the words he’d written. His essay was nothing but shit. He didn’t want to go to grad school, even at PIFA. He didn’t want to work with his father in his business. Justin didn’t want any of that. All he wanted was to be with Brian. And to be an artist.

And both were looking more and more in doubt every day.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian in the Queens Tank.

Pittsburgh, February 2005

 

Krause could hardly wait to get the big-mouthed faggot downstairs to the holding pens.

He thought he was so fucking good-looking, the smug bastard! He wouldn’t be so good to look at after Krause got through working him over. These fags thought they could get away with murder! Thought they could flaunt themselves in public. Parade themselves in front of decent, hard-working people. Shake their asses all over town. Thought that real men would be interested in them. It was disgusting.

And this queer was one of the worst. Because he didn’t look like a queer from far away. He looked like a regular guy. Tall and handsome. Too fucking handsome, thought Krause. I bet he thinks every guy in Pittsburgh should go on his knees and worship his big prick! He’ll find out. He’s just a faggot after all. And who gives a shit what happens to a faggot?

The Stormtrooper pushed Brian down the stairs, almost making him fall.

I should have kept my fucking mouth shut, Brian thought. Why do I do these things to myself? Now this creep is going to make me sorry that I was ever born.

He thinks.

Brian took a deep breath. He could take anything they wanted to give him. He wouldn’t feel a thing. He was already numb to the core as it was. Life had numbed him. They couldn’t do any worse.

The Stormtrooper slammed Brian hard against the concrete wall at the bottom of the stairs. Brian gasped and tried not to fall to the floor.

“Stub your toe, sweetheart?” cracked Krause. Another patrolman coming down behind him guffawed. 

But Brian tried to keep his head clear. He had to keep his head clear. Survival. That’s what it was all about.

A line of grim-looking bare cells stretched in front of them on the right. The Queens Tank. Brian could see the shadows of men who had been picked up earlier in the evening slumped inside. The smell of piss and sweat and ancient dampness was heavy in the air. A smaller room was on the left, the steel door gaping open.

Don’t take me in there, Brian prayed. Once you were out of sight they could do anything to you.

Krause steered the faggot towards the smaller room. Where they could have some privacy.

“Hey!” a voice called. It was a third officer, coming down the narrow stairway. Brian recognized the guy who used to frequent Woody’s, the closeted cop.

“What the hell do you want?” snapped Krause.

The newcomer pulled Krause aside and urgently whispered something to him.

Brian saw the Stormtrooper grimace. But the closeted cop nodded and pointed at Brian.

“Goddamn it!” Krause cried. He pushed Brian against the patrolman who had followed them both downstairs. “Put this queer away, Murray.” Then Krause turned and stomped back up the stairway.

“Here,” said the closeted cop to Murray, the other officer. “I’ll do it.”

Murray shrugged and turned Brian over.

The closeted cop guided Brian down the row and opened the door to one of the cells. He took the handcuffs off Brian and motioned him inside. “Get some sleep and try to be quiet while you’re in here. You’re not making it any easier for yourself.”

Brian looked him in the eye. “And are you making it any easier for yourself?”

“That’s my own business,” the closeted cop said tightly.

“And this is mine,” Brian replied. “So do what you have to do.”

The cop locked the cell and went away. Brian found a place on the wooden bench and sat down. One guy was lying on the cold floor, snoring. Another was huddled in the corner, wiping his red eyes on the sleeve of his jacket. A drag queen, her feather boa limp and her fur coat muddied, sat dejectedly picking at her long red nails.

Brian leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. His forehead ached where the Stormtrooper had shoved him against the bricks. Brian took his handkerchief out of his pocket and touched it to his brow. No blood. That was a relief. That’s all he needed – a fucking head wound!

He remembered the time when he and Michael and Ted had been taken in after Mikey mouthed off to the cops during a traffic stop. That’s when Carl had just begun dating Debbie and Michael couldn’t deal with it. That was a long time ago, Brian thought. Jesus, he’d been hungover the next day! He pictured himself crawling home to the loft that morning with a bitch of a headache. And now it was going to be another long fucking night.

He dozed fitfully. Occasionally he heard someone walk down the row of cells. Heard a door clang shut. Heard someone crying. But the Stormtrooper never returned.

Brian’s eyes flew open with a start. Daylight was streaming in through a high, barred window. He had to piss like mad. The toilet in the corner was filthy, but there was no alternative. He stood up and used it, then sat back down on the bench.

“Not the kind of accommodations you’re used to, huh, baby?” asked the drag queen. In the light of day Brian was surprised at how young she was, probably no older than Justin. She even reminded him a bit of Justin – short and pale-skinned and extremely brave. But her large blue eyes were lined with smudges of black mascara and her blond hair was long and disheveled. “Well, the County Lock-up is even worse, believe me! I’m looking at 30 days in there and I’m not looking forward to it.”

“What did they get you for?” asked Brian, curiously.

“Same as usual,” she said, shrugging her thin shoulders. “Soliciting. They pick me up, they put me away, and then they let me go – until they pick me up the next time. It’s the story of my life, honey.”

Brian shuddered. All sorts of unpleasant memories flashed through his head. The streets. The johns. The cops. “Sorry.”

“About what?” the queen sighed melodramatically. “They took away my purse. I wish I had my mirror! I hate to go before the judge looking less than my best.”

“You look fine,” Brian assured her. He didn’t know what else to say.

“A real gentleman!” the queen cooed. “I know it’s a lie, but thanks anyway, handsome!”

A cop walked down the line of the cells. “Kinney! Brian Kinney?” he called out. “Step to the front!”

“Here!” shouted Brian. He went to the door of the cell and nervously wrapped his long fingers around the bars. “I’m over here.”

The cop came and opened the cell. Brian stepped out.

“Bye bye, honey!” called the queen. “Good luck!”

The cop nudged Brian up the narrow stairway. 

Standing at the top was a familiar figure in a long, black topcoat. His face was grave.

“Brian Kinney,” Jim Stockwell, the Mayor of Pittsburgh, said sadly. “Whatever am I going to do with you?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian faces Stockwell.

Pittsburgh, February 2005

 

Brian stared at Jim Stockwell. The man he had helped put in office.

The man who was now doing everything he could to harass the gay population of Pittsburgh. Who had endorsed anti-gay legislation. Who had vowed to make the city into a ‘Family Friendly’ bastion – while completely ignoring the fact that queers also had families. Had partners. Had children. Had homes and businesses. Had lives that they deserved to live in peace and safety.

“Take me back downstairs,” Brian said to the cop who had retrieved him from the pens. “I’ll wait my turn to see the judge.”

“Kinney!” Stockwell said in irritation. “Stop being so goddamn stubborn!”

“And YOU stop being a fucking liar and a homophobe!” Brian retorted.

The cop bristled. “You can’t speak to the Chief that way! Apologize to His Honor!”

“‘His Honor’ can kiss my queer ass!” said Brian. “And so can you!”

The policeman grabbed Brian roughly and began taking him back down the stairs. But Stockwell stopped him.

“I need to talk with Mr. Kinney, officer,” he said. “If you would please step in here.” Stockwell indicated an empty office down a gray corridor.

Brian took a deep breath, but allowed himself to be directed into the room.

“That will be all, officer,” said Stockwell, dismissing him.

“But Chief!” the cop protested.

“I said that will be all,” the mayor ordered. “Please shut the door behind you.”

The policeman left the room reluctantly, leaving Brian to face his former client alone.

“If you missed me that much, Jim, you should have sent flowers,” Brian snarked.

“Why do you do these things, Brian?” Stockwell asked. “You’re a smart guy. You have a good job. And you know your business like nobody else in this town. I owe you a lot. I admit that. But you make it very, very hard for me. Your personal behavior is a disgrace.”

“I wasn’t aware that my personal behavior had anything to do with you, Jim,” Brian returned. “I told you once before that unless you’re sucking my cock, then my personal life is nobody’s fucking business – especially yours. But you see, you’ve made my personal life your business, Mr. Mayor! By targeting queers all over town. By closing bars and clubs. By persecuting people who aren’t hurting anyone. Like me.”

“You were picked up for lewd and indecent acts in a public place,” Stockwell stated with disgust “That’s against the law! And enforcing the law IS my business. Protecting law-abiding citizens. That’s what I was elected to do. Elected by the people. All of the people – including being endorsed by the Gay and Lesbian Center, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Yes, the Gay and Lesbian Center,” Brian nodded. “Little did they know what the fuck they were doing when they decided to dance with the devil. And little did I know exactly how that devil would turn around and bite me in the ass!”

“You were breaking the law!” Stockwell shouted, at the end of his patience.

“I wasn’t standing in front of City Hall at noon,” said Brian. “I wasn’t doing it next to a school or a fucking church or on the ‘Six O’Clock News.’ I wasn’t scaring the horses in the street. I was getting blown in an alley, in the dark, behind a gay bar. So fucking arrest me! Charge me! Arrest every queer in town! But that won’t stop it. It won’t stop me from wanting to get my dick sucked. It won’t stop anything!”

“You are known to have been a key member of my election campaign,” said Stockwell. “I stood up in public and acknowledged that you were a close, personal friend. And you don't think that this is an embarrassment to me? And to my Administration?”

“I don’t give a shit about your embarrassment, Jim. Or about your Administration!” Brian spat. “You and your fucking Administration can go to hell for all I care!”

“That’s not a good attitude to take,” Stockwell replied. “It’s an unfortunate attitude. This isn’t the first time that you’ve been taken in by my men.” Stockwell picked up a folder from the desk and opened it. “You were arrested just before Thanksgiving in a raid on an illegal bathhouse. And you were also brought in last summer for performing indecent acts in a public restroom. Before that it was in a park near Liberty Avenue. All of those times you were let go and your case was never brought before the judge. Why was that, Brian?”

Brian closed his eyes. “I don’t remember.”

Stockwell went to the door of the office and opened it. “Detective Horvath, would you please come in here?”

Stockwell stepped aside and Carl Horvath walked into the room. He looked tired and worried. He glanced at Brian grimly.

“It’s always nice to have a friend on the Pittsburgh PD,” Stockwell said. “But that’s over now. If you are brought in again, for any reason, then you’ll pay the price. No more having the good detective here riding to your rescue. One of my men recognized your name when you were brought in last night and he called me. One of Detective Horvath’s friends also recognized you and called him. But I was quicker. I’ll always be quicker. I’m the mayor of this city – and don’t you forget it, Mr. Kinney.” Stockwell turned to Carl. “And don’t you forget it, either, Detective. Because if you do it again, I’ll have your badge. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Carl stared down at his feet. “I understand.”

“Good,” said Stockwell. “Good day, gentlemen.” And Jim Stockwell walked out of the office.

“I’m sorry, Carl,” said Brian.

“How could such an intelligent man be so fucking stupid?” Horvath asked. “That’s what I’d like to know?”

“I said that I was sorry!” Brian replied. “What more can I do? Kill myself?”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing, Brian?” said Horvath. “Killing yourself inch by inch? I know you’ve spent most of your life angry at the world, but you aren’t hurting bigots like Stockwell this way. You’re only hurting yourself. And you’re hurting the people who love you. What about your son? And Debbie? She was crying when I left the house, she was so upset.”

But Brian only shook his head.

“And what about that guy you were seeing over Christmas?” Horvath asked. “How would he feel if he found this out? You don’t think that he would be hurt?”

“I don’t know,” Brian whispered.

“Yes, you do know.” Horvath reached into his coat and pulled out a large manila envelope. “Here’s your stuff. Your wallet, cigarettes, keys, and your cellphone. You’re free to go now.”

“Thanks,” said Brian, taking the envelope.

“But you heard the mayor, Brian,” Horvath warned. “This is the last time. I can’t do it again. I can’t risk my job and my pension for you. I have a wife to think about now. I have my own responsibilities. And so do you.”

Brian stepped outside and immediately pulled out a cigarette and lit up. His hands were shaking. It was morning rush hour and the streets downtown were full of cars. He’d have to find his way back to Liberty Avenue and pick up the Vette. And he’d have to call in to let Cynthia and Gardner know that he’d be late for work.

He walked down the sidewalk, trying to get away from the police station as fast as he could. He looked for a cab, but didn’t see one. Maybe he should call Mikey to come and get him. Maybe....

Brian took out his cellphone and stared at it. Then he hit a number. But it wasn’t Michael’s.

“Hello? Justin? I know you’re probably in class, but I... I only wanted to hear your voice,” Brian said. “That’s all. I only wanted to... No, that’s a lie. I’m in trouble. And I don’t know what the fuck to do. Please call me back when you can. If you can. Please, Justin. Help me.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian's in his Loft, but he's not happy.

Pittsburgh, February 2005

 

A large joint and a half a bottle of Jack Daniels had not knocked Brian out the way that he had intended them to. 

Instead they left him hanging between two worlds – drunk and depressed, but also still wide awake and thinking. And thinking was always a bad idea.

Thinking about how fucked up he was. How his life seemed to be falling apart just when it should be coming together. He had money, a prestigious job, a beautiful loft, an expensive wardrobe, and a classic car. And he was hot. Still in his prime. Able to fuck any guy he met into the mattress – even with only one ball.

Brian Kinney was on top of the fucking world!

Except for the fact that he was miserable.

He glanced at the clock. It was almost 2:00 a.m. Already Friday morning. Twenty-four hours before he had been in the Queens Tank downtown and he’d slept better in there than in his own fucking bed.

That was the story of his life.

Stockwell had reamed his ass. Then Carl Horvath had reamed his ass. And then Gardner Vance had reamed him AND read him the fucking Riot Act when he finally stumbled into work at noon on Thursday.

“This is not appropriate, Brian,” Gardner had lectured him sternly. He sounded like a fucking prep school headmaster with his phony British accent! “You are a partner in this firm and your behavior reflects on Vangard. Advertising is all about image, as you well know. So how would it look if you, our senior ad executive, were to be splashed across the front page of ‘The Pittsburgh Clarion’ after being picked up in a gay sex sweep? How would your clients feel? Brown Athletics? Or Eye-conic Optics? Or Open Fire Steakhouses? Is that the man they want in charge of their accounts? A sex criminal?”

“I’m not a fucking sex criminal, Gardner, and you know it!” Brian huffed. “That’s not fair!”

“Mayor Stockwell has already spoken to me,” Gardner continued. “He tells me that this is not the first time you have had a run-in with the police. In fact, you’ve had quite a storied career, Brian. But it seems that you have either wiggled out of any serious charges or else managed to get them dropped through certain ‘connections’ on the force.” Vance glared at his partner. Brian was one of the best ad men in the business, but he was getting to be more trouble than he was worth. “And don’t forget that Marty Ryder advised me about the sexual harassment lawsuit that you were involved in a number of years back. You were lucky that your assistant, Cynthia, did a bit of research and found out about the professor that the young man in question had threatened over a grade when he was in college. But what if he had not been convinced to drop his suit? Then what? Then where would you be?”

“How the fuck should I know, Gardner?” Brian answered wearily. “It was my word against his. But of course no one would ever believe me, right? Because I’m such a sexual predator! Such a fucking outlaw! I’m only trying to live and be left alone!”

“You may well find yourself alone – AND out of a job,” Gardner had said before dismissing him. “Go home for the weekend. Think long and hard about what you are doing. And come back on Monday morning with a different attitude.”

“What about my appointments for today and tomorrow?” Brian asked angrily.

“We’ll take care of your clients. Go home, Brian,” Gardner Vance had commanded. “Now!”

Justin had called Brian back later that day, but by then Brian was back at the loft and had had time to cool off. So Brian blew off Justin’s concerns and told him that it had been nothing. A momentary queen out. That Justin should go back to class and not to worry about him. Brian was okay. Everything was okay.

Michael had stopped by earlier on Thursday evening with food from Debbie. Debbie was always sending over food. That was her cure-all for everything. A plate of lasagna or a pot of soup. Michael had sat with Brian on the futon and ended up eating most of the food himself while he chattered on about his comic book store and something that Hunter had done in school and a new class that Ben was teaching.

But Brian was only half listening to Michael. He found himself doing that a lot lately. Half listening. While his thoughts were somewhere else. Somewhere north and to the east, hundreds of miles away.

The buzzer roused him from his semi-stupor. 

Who the fuck was at his door at 2:00 a.m.?

Brian dragged himself out of bed and limped across the loft. He had hurt himself more than he wanted to admit during his little tango with Stockwell’s Stormtroopers. At least they hadn’t taken out the one good ball he had left! Thank God for small miracles.

“Mikey? Is that you?” Brian yelled into the intercom. Michael was the only person who would barge in at this fucking hour. Except that Michael had his own key. He’d let himself right in. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Brian! Open up!” said the voice. “Please? It’s cold out here!”

Something made Brian’s heart stop for a second. Then he hit the button to release the downstairs lock.

Brian had the heavy loft door open before Justin had run even halfway up the stairs. He hadn’t wanted to wait for the elevator, even though he’d walked all the way from the bus station in the snow.

Justin’s face was flushed and frozen at the same time. He dropped his backpack on the floor and was in Brian’s arms before either of them said a single word.

Brian held on to Justin as if it were the last thing he would ever do in his life.

“Your hands are fucking cold!” Brian breathed.

“I know,” whispered Justin. “Can you think of a way to warm them up?”

“I’ll think of something,” said Brian, pulling at Justin’s clothes frantically. Brian was only wearing his jeans and a tee shirt, but Justin had a heavy coat, thick cords, and a couple of layers of sweaters to be stripped off.

“Here,” said Justin. “Let me help.” He reached down to unzip his pants.

“No,” said Brian, brushing his hand away. “Let me do it. I want to do it all.”

And Brian uncovered every inch of him, discarding Justin’s garments one piece at a time. Warming up the cold areas of Justin’s skin with his hands. Cooling the hot areas with his tongue. 

Somehow they reached the bed, although neither of them was aware of moving. They were simply there. Simply naked. Simply together.

And then simply joined under the glow of the blue lights.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peace in the Loft.

Pittsburgh, February 2005

 

A fucking miracle.

That’s what Brian had needed more than anything else.

And that’s what he got.

Usually with sex Brian tried to lose himself in it as completely as possible. No reflection. No holding back. And no real thought to anything, but especially not to his sex partner. 

The other guy had always been more of a challenge than an actual person. A puzzle to be figured out. What could he do? How long could he last? How far would he go? If the guy balked or hesitated, then Brian only pushed harder. The guy claimed that he didn’t kiss? Then he’d be kissed until his lips bled. He said that he didn’t take it up the ass? Then he’d get fucked into oblivion. A guy who talked too much got a gag in his mouth. A guy who moved around got tied up. A guy who wanted to linger was booted out the door before he got his pants zipped back up. A trick’s wants or needs were beside the point, along with his name, address, and life story.

Because Brian didn’t give a fuck. He never gave a fuck.

Until now.

“Justin, Justin, Justin!”

Brian couldn’t seem to stop saying the name. Couldn’t stop himself from asking what he could give, not what he could take.

“Justin, tell me what you want! Tell me what you need!”

“Brian!” Justin demanded. “Fuck me! Harder! Harder! More!”

“More of what, Justin? What?”

“You. I want you. Brian! You, you, you!” Justin gasped and dug his fingers into Brian’s hot flesh.

But then Brian did something that he’d never done before. He stopped. Stopped in the middle of a fuck, with his cock deep in Justin’s ass.

“Brian? What’s wrong?” Justin asked, blinking convulsively. “Why did you stop?”

Brian took a deep breath. “What do you really want, Justin? My dick? Is that all? All there really is to it? All there is to us?”

Justin sat up a little and put his arms around Brian, hugging him tightly. “No, Brian. That isn’t all there is to it. Not for me.”

“But you still want me to fuck your tight little ass?”

“Yes, please.” Justin closed his eyes. “I want you to fuck me. But you know that isn’t all, Brian. Ever since I left Pittsburgh and went back to school the only thing I’ve thought about is you. Not just your dick, but YOU. All of you. And all of the things we did for that week we were together. Watching movies here in the loft. Playing with Gus. Going to the dinner at Debbie’s. Stopping at Michael’s comic book store. And dancing at Babylon on New Year’s Eve. Yes, the sex, too. But that wasn’t only about sex. It was about love.”

“You mean that, Justin?” Brian asked. “Or are you just saying that because I still have my dick halfway up your ass and you want me to finish what I’ve started?”

“Not finish, Brian,” Justin whispered. “But continue. Because this isn’t going to end here. Is it?”

“No,” said Brian. “It’s not going to end here. So, I’ll continue.”

The bedroom was cold – it was always cold and drafty in the loft – but Brian and Justin were drenched in sweat after they’d both come. They were lying together under the duvet with their arms still around each other. Brian couldn’t stop caressing Justin’s golden hair. His poreless pale skin. His thick, blunt dick, now slack with satisfaction. And Justin was breathing in Brian’s essence. His strong male smell. The whiskey and weed on his breath. The aftertaste of his come in Justin’s mouth.

But it really was more than that. Both men felt safe for the first time since they had been apart. Justin smiled and snuggled closer. And Brian leaned his head against Justin’s shoulder.

Never before had Brian wanted anyone to stay with him. Sleep with him. Or live with him. He couldn’t get that idea out of his head.

Living with someone. It was such a foreign notion to Brian. He had always been proud of not needing anyone. Not wanting anyone. The lone wolf. The cat who walked by himself, as Kipling had written. He had Mikey and Lindsay and Gus and even Deb for his emotional needs. Had them to turn to. Even to cry to at times. But Brian was always able to walk away whenever he wanted to. To shut the door of the loft and lock out the world.

Brian wanted to shut that door again and lock out the world. Only now there were two people inside, not one. He wanted to lock himself in with Justin.

“What happened the other day, Brian?” Justin finally asked. “You can tell me. You can tell me anything.”

There it was. Brian actually believed him. He could tell Justin anything. And he wanted to tell Justin everything.

“I freaked out and called you. I didn’t mean to scare you, Justin. But... I only wanted to hear your voice.”

“You wanted me to help you,” Justin reminded him softly. 

“I was arrested.” Brian’s mouth felt as dry as cotton. “But Stockwell and Deb’s husband, Carl, got me out before I was charged.”

Justin inhaled sharply. “Was it DUI? Were you stoned and driving?”

Brian shook his head. “I was getting sucked off in the alley behind Woody’s. I picked up a trick and I didn’t want to bring him back here. It was the first time I’d done it in a couple of weeks. But... but I was lonely. Horny. I only wanted to forget about how... how lonely I was. But Stockwell’s Goons got us. They were doing a sweep that night. They ran in six guys from that alley and more from all around town. They filled up their van with queers. And I spent the night in the Queens Tank.”

“Is that where you got this?” Justin gently touched a small bruise over Brian’s right eye.

“Yeah. One of the cops pushed my head against the bricks a little too hard.” Brian laughed shortly. “I also took a couple of good kicks in the shin. Those guys wear some heavy fucking boots!” Brian held Justin tighter. “But it could have been a lot worse. They’ve done worse to queers down in the Queens Tank. I’ve heard stories. And... I’ve seen things, Justin. That wasn’t the first time I’ve been arrested. I won’t lie to you. But I’m hoping it’ll be the last time.”

“You really might have been hurt!” said Justin in dismay.

“No, they can’t hurt me,” Brian assured him. “They can only damage my body a little. Only one person has the power to really hurt me – now. So... do you hate me, Justin? And are you going to hurt me?”

“No, Brian, of course not! I don’t hate you. And I won’t hurt you.” Justin looked into Brian’s eyes. “Yes, I’m angry, but not at you. I’m angry at them. Angry at everyone who hates us and wants to drive us underground. I know what’s happening here, Brian. And what’s happening in other places. In too many places.”

“I’m angry, too. I’m furious that a bunch of bigots are trying to control my life – OUR lives, Justin. But... I’m also tired. So fucking tired. Sometimes all I want to do is hide myself away.” Brian paused. “But I want to hide myself away with you. Funny, huh?”

“Not so funny, Brian,” said Justin, seriously. “I think about that myself. I thought about it a lot when I had to go back to Dartmouth right after the New Year. I thought about saying fuck it to school – and to my father – and not going back. But I knew that I had to go back. I’m too close to the end. Only two terms to go. I have to finish my degree before I get out of there.”

“You do, Justin,” said Brian. “It’s the first step in being your own person. When I had that diploma in my fucking hand I knew that I’d never have to rely on my old man again. I knew that I’d accomplished something that was mine – and no one else’s. But after that....”

“Yeah, after that... I have to think about that soon, Brian,” Justin admitted. “But not now. Now I only want to make love again. Right here. Where Stockwell, and his Anti-Sex Goons, and my father, and all of the creeps and bigots in the world can’t get at us. In this bed. OUR bed!”

And Brian laughed loudly and freely for the first time in weeks. “You possessive little twat! You’re already figuring out where all your shit is going to go when you move in here, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” said Justin, matter-of-factly. “Where else?”

“But there’s one thing we better do first,” said Brian, raising his eyebrow. “The door of the loft is still open.”

“Oh, shit!” Justin cried. He sat up and looked across the loft. Sure enough, the metal door was wide open.

“I was so busy ripping your clothes off that I forgot to close it. Which means that anyone could walk right in and watch us fucking.”

“Like Mikey did on Christmas Day?” Justin snorted. “Let him watch! Maybe he would learn something.”

“Maybe he would at that,” Brian laughed again.

But he also got out of bed and shut the loft door. And locked it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter of "In the Bleak Midwinter" –
> 
> The Boys are together and Spring is around the corner.
> 
> Another segment of "The Angel Stream" is coming up soon!

Pittsburgh, February 2005

 

“So,” said Brian. He was lying on the big bed, tangled in the dark blue linen sheets, smoking a long, brown cigarette. “We better get up and get dressed. You don’t want to miss your plane.”

“I don’t?” Justin replied. He watched the smoke curl up from Brian’s cigarette. He turned over and flung his pale arm over Brian’s chest. “Maybe the airport will be closed because of the heavy snow?”

“Have you looked outside, Justin?” Brian asked. “The sky is clear and the sun is shining. It’s a beautiful Sunday. Perfect for flying to Boston.”

“It figures,” Justin sighed. “I can’t catch a fucking break.”

“You have to go back.” Brian took a long drag on his cigarette.

“I know.” Justin pulled the cigarette out of Brian’s mouth and took a puff. It had a sharp, acrid taste. “It’s just that it feels so good to be here. When I’m up there I really feel alone.”

Brian felt a tug inside. “But you told me that you have friends,” said Brian. “Your roommate seems like a nice guy. He drove you down to Boston. And those guys at that fag club you attend.”

Justin smiled. “You mean Gay Dartmouth? They’re all right, but I don’t really hang out there much. It’s mainly a place they use to hook up. New Hampshire isn’t exactly a Queer Mecca!”

“No,” Brian laughed. “That’s Vermont! All those dykes in Birkenstocks and old ex-hairdressers running quaint antique shops.”

“Don’t knock it, Brian,” Justin chided him. “It’s beautiful in New England in the winter. Lots of picturesque little inns and resorts. And people ski and snowboard.”

“It’s beautiful here, too, when the snow covers all the steel mills. And when was the last time you stayed at a picturesque little inn or went snowboarding?” Brian asked, retrieving his cigarette from between Justin’s pink lips.

“Never,” Justin admitted. “But I never had anyone to stay at an inn or snowboard with. It’s no fun doing those things alone. Not when you’re surrounded by happy couples. You know what I mean?”

“Yes, I know what you mean.” Brian stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray next to the bed. “But like I said, if I want snow there’s plenty here in the Pitts. And there are mountains all around us where you can ski or snowboard. There must be something else that you think about doing, Justin. What is it? What is it that you wish for?”

Justin buried his face in Brian’s chest. “Being here. That’s all I think about. That’s why I came this weekend. And I’ll pay you back for the flight. I promise I will.”

“Fuck it,” said Brian, dismissively. “I have more Frequent Flyer Miles than I know what to do with. They ought to give me my own airplane!”

“Then you could fly anywhere, Brian,” Justin whispered. “Like a superhero.”

“Some superhero I am,” Brian breathed. He felt like anything other than a powerful hero. He couldn’t even keep Justin there another night. He couldn’t stop time or move through space faster than the speed of light. He couldn’t do anything, except wish.

They lay there in bed, neither wanting to make the first move to get up. Neither wanting to be the one to end the moment.

“So,” said Brian, finally. “I guess it’s time.”

“Yeah,” said Justin. “Time.”

“So – how much room do you think you’ll need?” Brian asked.

“How much room?” Justin frowned. “In the Vette? Or on the plane?”

“No,” Brian turned and faced Justin. “Here in the loft.”

“Room in the loft? What do you mean?” Justin’s heart was beating like a hammer in his chest.

“For after graduation,” said Brian, steadily. “For when you move in here. I mean, assuming that you want to move in. If you think you can stand me. Because I’m not an easy person to live with. Sometimes I can barely stand to live with myself. But maybe if I had someone to help me, I might learn to like myself better. That is, if someone liked me enough. Or... or loved me enough.”

“I do,” said Justin, softly. “I love you enough, Brian. I love you more than anything.”

“Do you really?” said Brian, wonderingly.

“Yes,” said Justin, sincerely. “So why do you find that so hard to believe?”

Brian knew the answer, but it was difficult to admit. Difficult to shatter his own facade so thoroughly in front of Justin.

“Maybe because I don’t believe that I can be loved. Because my parents didn’t even love me. Didn’t want me. How can a person love himself when he knows that he’s truly alone in the universe? That no one gives a shit whether he’s alive or dead – not even his own mother? And that there's no one in the whole world who will give up even a tiny piece of themselves just for you. Only you.”

Justin choked slightly, trying to imagine the people who wouldn’t love Brian. The parents who didn’t love their own child. And then he thought of his father and his heart was gripped with apprehension.

“Mikey loves you, Brian,” Justin said. “And Deb. And Lindsay. And Gus. That’s not no one.”

“But where were they when I really needed them?” whispered Brian. He huddled under the sheets and shivered like a child. “No one is ever there when you really need them. In the dark. When there’s no light anywhere. But especially no light in your heart. And you don’t even know where to look for it. That’s how lost you are.”

“I would have been there, Brian,” Justin asserted. 

“You weren’t even born,” Brian replied, wiping his eyes with the back of his beautiful hand.

“But I’m born now,” Justin said. “I’m right here. And I’ll give you all of myself. Everything.” 

Justin pushed the covers away from his naked body and spread his arms out like a pair of thin, white wings. Welcoming. Blessing.

Brian buried himself there. And they both forgot the time. Forgot the plane. 

But they were flying.

 

* FIN *


End file.
